


Hawks & Spiders

by darkwarriorqueen



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blackhawk - Freeform, Clintasha - Freeform, F/M, Romance, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2451212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkwarriorqueen/pseuds/darkwarriorqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wouldn't kill her. Not until he knew what exactly was going on." An exploration of Clint and Natasha s relationship and their pasts. [Pre Avengers] (Rated M for future content)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. Another Call


    It was night by now and the rain was hitting hard. His fingers already felt numb and his cheeks and nose were flushed red from the cold.
    
    'About to come.', the voice in his earphone announced. 'Be wary.'
    _Because I wasn't._ , he thought annoyed.
    
    He steadied himself, pulled out an arrow from his quiver and aimed.
    
    'Ready?', the voice asked.
    
    'Yeah.', he answered raw, looking through the scope of his bow.
    
    'It left the building.', the voice said.
    
    He narrowed his eyes. In that moment he saw a figure running out of the building. The target.
    
    _There you are._ , he smiled.
    
    He stretched his bow, aiming at the target.
    
    A long silence followed and all the voice heard was the archer breathing.
    
    'Did you get her Barton?', the voice asked impatiently. 'Barton, she should be within your range by now. Barton!' 
    
    'Shut up Coulson!', he hissed as he focused on his target.
    
    
    Something was strange and Coulson did nothing but bother him. 
    He didn't have anything against him in person. No, actually he could be quite fun at times but he hated hearing him now. Now where he had to eliminate a dangerous spy. 
    He was no help. He could've done this all by himself but Fury had told him to take someone with him. He had snorted when he heard that but Fury remained serious.
    That was when he grew suspicious. 
    Fury had _never_ asked him to go on a mission with a partner. Never ever. 
    Fury trusted his skills. He knew how much Clint hated going on missions with 'partners' and he was known among the S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents as a loner. Clint huffed at that with amusement.
    Yet Fury _insisted_ on taking someone with him. So he decided to take Coulson with him. Coulson who would be as much help as anyone else. None at all.
    
    
    'No, Clint I have to keep an eye on-'
    
    He plugged the earphone out and smashed it under his foot. He needed to fully concentrate on his target now. 
    
    
    There had to be a reason why Fury sent _him_ to kill that spy.
    Sure, he was an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.,that was his job. But it was more than just suspicious that Fury would send one of his best alongside a partner when he clearly knew that his best preferred working alone.
    
    
    The target had stopped running and was soaked wet. She looked aimlessly around herself, you'd think she was desperate. Desperate? 
    
    'A black widow?', he had asked.
    ' _The_ black widow.' he remembered Fury explain. 'She was one of the team of elite female sleeper agents who were trained in combat and espionage by the KGB.' 
    Fury had eyed him up, a little nosily.
    'She was trained since childhood and has become one of the most dangerous master assassins....', he had continued. 'Just like you.'
    Clint had looked at him, slightly questioning.
    'Aren't you exaggerating?'
    
    
    Fury was hiding something. There was much more to this aim than he had told him for sure.
    
    
    The target had found him in that minute and was directly staring at the archer who was pointing his weapon at her.
    Clint watched her through his scope and to his surprise found pure horror in her eyes.
    She wasn't moving, only staring.
    Fury had told him before that she was an excellent actress and a skilled seductress, never failing in persuading her victims.
    
    He frowned. There was no use in standing mute in his aim.
    
    His vision must've been blurred by the distance from above and the rain. Then again _he_ saw better from a distance and he could tell that there was clear fear in her eyes.
    
    An emotionless criminal who had no will of its own but simply obeyed. And yet he saw the worst and probably strongest emotion of the human being on her face.
    
    Then he noticed her bloodied tunic and injuries.
    
    He lowered his bow.
    
    She blinked a few times in confusion and that was when she seemed to have come back to her senses because all of a sudden she began to run. She ran into the direction of the building to his left.
    
    _Damn it!_
    
    He could've still shot her. But something prevented him from doing it right away. 
    
    He hinged his bow aside and grabbed the bars of the tower he stood on, took a leap of faith and jumped, landing on the ceiling of the other building.
    
    
    In truth he cringed at the thought of killing her. 
    Why?
    
    Maybe because of the horrible emotion he saw in her eyes. 
    Maybe because of the blood stained hospital tunic she wore.
    Maybe because of the fact that she was standing there, defenceless.
    
    
    Clint ran rapidly, cursing himself, to the edge of the ceiling.
    
    
    No, it were Fury's words that disturbed him. _'Just like you.'_ It was a small hint he had given him, that the agent chose to ignore before, because he knew it would hinder him to end this mission at some point.
    Clint cursed Nick Fury for giving him that hint. He did it so he wouldn't blame him afterwards for not telling him.
    
    
    The agent jumped off the ceiling grabbing hold of a wet rope and sliding down. His gloves protected his hands only little from the burning feeling that followed on his palms.
    
    _'Just like you.'_ So she had been forced into this life.
    
    The agent was now standing on a windowsill. He took a deep breath, hid his face behind his arms as he jumped down, shattering the glass of another barred old window.
    He cursed again, crawling up from the floor. His arms had several scrapes because of the sharp glass shards.
    
    The marksman narrowed his eyes, tried to find her in the dark. At least he was save from the rain for now.
    
    
    He wouldn't kill her. Not until he knew what exactly was going on.
    
    
    Then he saw the white tunic and red hair floating and he took track of her again.
    Adrenaline pulsing through his veins as he ran again, pushing all the obstacles out of his way and breaking anything that might have stopped him.
    The target was quick and kept changing her direction, hoping he'd lose her soon.
    To her detriment he didn't loose her.
    
    It was too late when she finally found herself in front of a fence and behind her the killer set on her.
    
    He reached for his bow and an arrow, pointed them at her with fake determination.
    
    Here they were.
    
    Both exhausted and tired. Bloodied and battered.
    
    Her expression was very different now than from what he had seen the first time he had zeroed a weapon at her. This time there was no fear. No fear but stoutness. A brave but still tired look.
    
    And then he did what neither of them expected.
    He put his arrow back into the quiver and held his hands up in surrender, his bow still in his hand.
    
    She looked up and frowned, her breath heavy and uneven.
    
    He had her right where he needed her to be and was about to leave her the second time?
    
    She had troubles with holding her balance.
    
    What was it that had changed Clint Barton's mind?
    
    'You are not who I've been told you are.', he explained, more to himself than to her.
    
    The whole situation was too suspicious.
    
    From what he knew she was Russian, so he wasn't sure anyway if she would understand.
    Then tears formed in her eyes and she chuckled bitterly.
    'I'm not who I've been told I am either.', she said in fluent English.
    
    Clint had been right.
    She wasn't the black widow she was trained to be.
    But _she_ meant something else.
    
    The Russian girl just then passed out and he caught her in his arms.
    
    

 


	2. 2. Nat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Listen Natalia-'  
> 'Don't call me that.', she menaced again behind gritted teeth.
    
    
    He had his left arm around her shoulders and tried to wake her with the other by patting her cheek gently. 
    'Hey, wake up. Wake up. C'mon.', he whispered low and hectically.
    The woman didn't react and panic began to grow inside him. There was not much time. 
    He then held his finger under her nose to make sure she was still breathing. He sighed in relief.
    She had just passed out, her injuries didn't seem to be lethal.
    Her forehead was bleeding on the right side and the blood on her tunic probably wasn't hers.
    
    Clint brushed off the red wisps on her forehead.
    Her skin was so soft. 
    In that moment he honestly felt worried for the stranger in his arms, realizing that she must've been also chased by someone else than S.H.I.E.L.D..
    
    But who? This was one of the highly protected hideouts of the KGB.
    _She was their best._
    Then who was she running from? Her own people?
    He remembered her bitter words.
     
    _I'm not who I've been told I am either._
    
    _Pity._ , he thought.
    
    A sudden an alarm went off.
    Confused, the agent threw the unconscious quickly over his shoulder and ran out of the nearest exist, looking for an escape.
    
    There was no time to think about what had just happened, only time for reaching his car.
    Now he regretted plugging the earphone out. Coulson could've been a good help now.
    
    
    -  -  -
    
    
    Her head was pounding hard as she tried to stand up and open her eyes. Dizzy she looked around herself but she needed to hold her head to keep it from exploding. 
    She cursed in Russian under her breath.
    Then leery looked up again.
    She was somewhere unfamiliar. 
    A pretty fancy room, lit in yellow dim light. 
    _Where-_
    
    Her eyes shot wide open when she saw the back of a male standing at the end of her bed. 
    
    'I told you I'm sor- Yeah what the hell do you want to hear then!? The truth? Well, the truth is I need more ti-', he was arguing intensely on the phone.
    
    Next to her bed was a small night table with a tray of food. 
    The master assassin carefully snatched the knife that lay on the tray, then made a quick move, pulled the man by his hair and placed the cool steel on his throat.
    
    
    'Woah!', his arms flew up in surrender and he dropped the phone.
    'Barton! What the hell!?', a voice yelled from the phone on the floor.
    'It's al right Phil!', Barton yelled back.
    His eyes moved to the small knife at his throat. He raised his eyebrows.
    'A butter knife? You serious?'
    Puzzled she looked at her tiny weapon when the man grabbed both of her wrists and threw her upside down from the bed onto the floor so hard that she cried out in pain. 
    'Argh!, he had her hands pinned on the floor, directly gazed into her eyes. 
    A smile of victory crept onto his mouth. He huffed.
    
    She glared back, her jade eyes so vicious that he could feel the poison flowing down the throat she meant to slice open.
    She saw how cold his blue eyes were in contrast to her own but had to wonder why she felt a scarce warmth coming from his gaze.
    
    He looked a little older than her. His face painted with the maturity that had come with his experiences. Yet he had something in his cold look that was more alive than herself.
    
    She pulled her full ruby lips into a slight pout.
    
    Clint saw the anger on her face. Even though her glare was piercing, he felt like this anger wasn't directed at him, but herself.
    Her cheeks were furiously flushed red like her wild red curls that were floating on the carpet. 
    
    She had a mole on her right cheek, he noticed. 
    
    'You kill me. They kill you.', he said before he let go of her wrists.
    
    He got on one knee and offered her his hand.
    
    'I don't want to fight you.'
    
    The redhead rolled onto her stomach. Leaning on her elbow, she stared at the man before her.
    _You've wanted to kill me last night._ , she thought but didn't respond to him and also did not take his offer and stood up by herself.
    
    The woman patted her clothes straight. 
    Only now she noticed that she hadn't been wearing the blood wrenched hospital clothes but a very comfortable, yet oversized pyjama. 
    
    It had little hawks on it.
    She arched her perfectly shaped eyebrow at him.
    'I like hawks.', he shrugged.
    She raised both of her brows.
    'My partner thought it was funny.', he said dull, leaving the bedroom, heading the living room. So there was a joke she had missed.
    He picked up the phone.
    'So where were we?' A sigh. 'Nothing has happened that I couldn't handle okay?' He rolled his eyes and impatiently listened to Phil's rant. 'Yes, I know, I know. Now tell Fury I need more time and that I'll arrive later than planned.'
    He groaned. The assassin didn't seem to handle people very well, his captive thought.
    
    'Dear god.', he muttered before he continued. 'Tell him that I missed the target and- Then tell him I did just now!'
    He hung up and rubbed his forehead to calm his temper.
    _So he never missed_ , she thought.
    Yes, that could've been true since the archer hadn't even tried to shoot her.
    She frowned, crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.
    
    She would have been dead if he had wanted.
    
    Barton's eyes met hers again. For a moment they only looked at each other, studying each other. 
    
    'Are you feeling better now?', Clint finally asked in the few Russian words he knew.
    'You slammed me against the floor just a few seconds ago.', she answered cutting in English.
    
    'Ah thank god you haven't forgotten how to speak. But tell me, is my Russian that bad Ms. Romanova?'
    She gritted her teeth. 'Don't call me that.'
    He frowned, muddled. 
    'Al right then, formalities aside. Call me Clint.', he shrugged.
    Just as muddled she tilted her head, waiting for an explanation of his question. He understood.
    
    'You've had a strong fever last night. I was afraid you wouldn't make it.'
    Alarmed she turned her head to look out of the window. 
    _It was still night and raining._
    The horror he had seen last night was about to dominate her senses again.
    'You've slept the whole day...', he interrupted her thoughts, trying to clear things up for her.
    'I-I...' The marksman saw that she was about to panic when she took straight steps into Clint's direction. Enraged the master assassin grabbed him by his collar.
    
    'Where are we?', it sounded like a suppressed roar. Threatening.
    He grippeed her by the wrists that were about to choke him.
    'Listen Natalia-'
    'Don't call me that.', she menaced again behind gritted teeth.
    
    The redhead was sweating and shaking, her jade eyes moving frantically.
    Clint exasperatedly tried to soothe her.
    
    'Whoever you think is after you, lost track of us. They don't know where you are. They think you're _dead_.' There were some lies mixed up in his attempt of comfort.
    
    'No, no, no!'
    Her eyes were wide with terror and she had trouble to even her breath.
    She let go of his collar, only to clutch her hair.
    'Nat, Nat!', Clint shook her lightly by her shoulders. 'It's fine! You're safe!'
    
    What the hell was she so afraid of!?
    She began trembling violently and stopped hearing him shouting at her.
    'Nat!'
    Everything grew hazy before her eyes as she vainly tried to find purchase on Clint.
    
    A moment of dizziness and she passed out.
    
    -  -  -
    
    Visions were blurred. Nothing clear. A silhoutte. It was Barton. He sat kind of distressed, his hand running through his hair. He noticed her eyes fighting to open up.
    
    'Natalia!'
    
    Natalia...
    
    Oh sweet memories. As blurred as her vision now. 
    How long has it been since a deep voice had called her Natalia.
    
    Natalia! 
    
    This time the voice in her memory sounded more menacing than concerned.
    
    'Don't call me that.', it was a weak whisper that came through her parted lips.
    
    He laid the back of his hand on her forehead.
    'Nat, Wake up. You need to stay awake.'
    He spoke so softly. Lovely.
    
    She murmured something in Russian. Something Clint didn't understand. It sounded like a plead.
    
    Without knowing what was going on in the redheads mind Clint tried to calm her. For some reason he grew sparsely attached to this stranger. His captive. 
    
    'It's al right. You're safe. You're safe, Nat.' 
    It was hard for him to believe it himself.
    
    
    'Who is Nat?', she asked feebly.
    
    Her hands crept up his wrists. A painful confusion painted her face. She had lost her identity.
    
    ' _You._ ', he said gently, caressing her head. 


	3. 3. S.H.I.E.L.D.s Radar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Agent Barton.', the man greeted him, with a voice that sounded more than pissed.  
> 'How did you find-'  
> 'Tracked you.'  
> 'But I got rid of my-'  
> 'Well you didn't get rid of your bow, did you?'
    
    
    This time when the wanted spy woke up, she was alone in the room. The sun shone cushy through the window. The birds were chirping.
    
    She rubbed her eyes and groaned. Her head felt better, lighter and she didn't feel as cold any more. But she was all sweaty and felt disgusted by the feeling of it.
    
    When she looked around the room, she wondered where her captor was. 
    
    The spy sneaked out of the bedroom, into the living room of their hotel suite. She heard a light snoring. 
    
    Agent Barton was sleeping on the couch across the big window of their hotel suite. His face was covered with a newspaper.
    
    He was sleeping, unarmed and unaware. _She_ was awake. A convenient moment to escape, _right_?
    But no, he couldn't be that careless. Also, where could she go? She knew at least that _he_ wouldn't kill her. Not now. Not today. Not until he had the information he needed. Whatever that was.
    
    Before she could find a beneficial solution to her question what to do, Clint spoke, his face still hidden under the newspaper.
    
    'It's no use.' She frowned. Then she realized that he meant the door she was heading to. She pressed the knob. Locked. 
    The redhead cocked an eyebrow. 'This won't stop me.' 
    'I know.', he mumbled. ' _I_ will.'
    She huffed. It was hard to take that guy serious in his arrow printed boxers.
    
    'Try.', she challenged assertive.
    
    He snickered under the paper.
    
    'You're still here.', he responded instead.
    
    She was. Still there and arguing with the stranger rather than just knocking him out and walking out.
    Perhaps she was too curious to know what he wanted.
    
    He tossed the newspaper away and got up.
    
    No, in fact she was afraid to leave. To get into _their_ hands.
    
    'However, are you hungry? Bet you are. I'll prepare some breakfast. Isn't this hotel great? We have an own kitchen here.', Clint was babbling sleepily while he walked over to the kitchen that was attached to the edgy living room.
    
    _They_ would punish her.
    
    'Hey, don't break the door.', he warned when he noticed that the spy was heading to the door again. 'I don't want extra attention, I already told the delivery service not to show up-'
    
    'What did you mean last night?', she then interrupted him. It was about time they cleared things up. 'I wasn't who you've been told I was. What did you mean?'
    'It's been two nights.', he corrected and shut the door of the fridge. 
    She had slept most of the time and hadn't suffered the fallout of her nightmares.  
    'What did you mean?', he asked without answering her.
    The agent needed her to confirm what she had said. Needed her to confirm his assumption. Needed to be certain that she was not guilty.
    
    'I asked first.', she urged.
    
    'I asked second.', he countered.
    
    'That's such a childish response!'
    
    'Well, you're acting like one now!'
    
    The captive groaned annoyed. 'The hell, I'm going to tell you.', she grumbled and went to the bathroom. 
    
    Clint rubbed his forehead thoughtfully before he slammed the pancake batter onto the pan. 
    This time Fury would kill him for getting his own way if he didn't make the woman cooperate. 
    
    _Well damn._
    
    ---  
    
    The former KGB spy threw her pajamas off – well actually Clint's ridiculous pajamas- and climbed into the bathtub. 
    
    With a heavy heart and shivering hands she clutched the knobs of the douche. 
    _I am doomed._ , she thought before letting the cold water run down her naked skin. She then raised her head against the water jet. 
    _So be it._
    
    – - -
    
    The room was filled with a sweet scent. 
    Breakfast was placed on the dining table but Barton was nowhere to be seen.
    
    _Well, hell._
    
    She walked over to the bedroom, heading for the cupboard. Her captor surly wouldn't mind her borrowing some clothes.
    
    'Widow?' Barton called, probably standing in the doorway by now.
    
    'Calling me by title, that's better.', she said without facing him.
    'Sounds ridiculous.'
    'So does _Hawkeye_ , Agent Barton.'
    
    He huffed. 'How do you know-?'
    
    'You don't mind me borrowing some clothes, do you?', she asked and at the same time pointed at his boxers to answer his question. The 'title' was sewn on some of his clothes.
    
    'Well, actually-'
    'Thank you, I appreciate that.'
    
    The door rang and both assassins immediately turned their heads in the direction of the entry door and then looked at each other, wondering.
    
    'Aww hell, didn't I tell them not to show up?' The Widows captor grabbed for some sweatpants and walked over to the door, uneasily putting them on.
    
    _Ring, ring, ring._
    
    'Hell, I'm coming. A little patience for your guests, okay?', he yelled back at the door while trying to tie a bow.
    
    Meanwhile his captive sneaked out of the bedroom, dressed in only his shirt, pouring some coffee into a mug.
    'Coulson!?', she heard him call out in surprise when he opened the door.
    _Ah, the hawkguy is screwed._ , she thought.
    
    'Agent Barton.', the man greeted him, with a voice that sounded more than pissed.
    'How did you find-'
    'Tracked you.'
    'But I got rid of my-'
    'Well you didn't get rid of your bow, did you?'
    'Ah- I know this looks bad but I-'
    Over Clints' shoulder, Coulson spotted the target... showered and in his clothes, eased taking a sip of her coffee mug. 
    Clint noticed what he was thinking.
    
    'Oh god, Phil I can explain.'
    'This, this doesn't need explanation. I told you she is a experienced seductress. I told you she is-', Coulsons voice grew louder as his face reddened and Clint wanted to avoid the staff becoming attentive.
    'Don't you wanna come in and yell at me tête-à-tête?'
    'I'd love to, my friend.', the man replied, faking a smile. 'And please stop fumbling with your pants.', he added embarrassed to which the hawkguy only grinned.
    
    ---
    
    'Fury's gonna kill me...', Phil was rubbing his forehead rather frustrated. 'Right after I'm finished with _you_.'
    'Al right but first let _me_ finish with _her_.'
    'You had your chance!'
    
    'Hey!', the target called from behind. 'I don't like you two talking about me behind my back.'
    
    But her captor just ignored her after giving her a glance and continued arguing with his partner. This time whispering. She rolled her eyes and took another sip of her coffee.
    
    'Listen Phil, remember how you guys picked me up in my darkest times? Please trust me when I say _I know what I'm doing_.'
    Well, the last part was partly a lie but he needed time to catch up and **think**.
    'I can't, Barton. There's a reason, _**a damn good reason**_ , S.H.I.E.L.D. was turned on this case. This woman might have manipulated you-'
    'And yet you do nothing but argue with me. So you _do_ hope I'm right aswell, don't you?'
    
    For a moment Coulson silenced and examined his friend and then the Black Widow drinking her coffee. A hint of offence on her face.
    He had to suffocate a giggle. 
    Must've been due to the fact that Clint ignored her.
    'Phil?'
    He sighed.
    'Tell me what exactly you're going to do.'


End file.
